Thoughts Float Up From the Steam

I am in the mood to write just now because I just finished a set of deep contemplation while ironing Dear Sir's few pieces of spring/summer attire. Maybe there is a good thing about ironing that I never realized.

I was thinking about my father in law. He has to be the coolest father in law alive. I thought about the times when I had house-breaking-down issues and I called him. He is retired so he was always available for me. I think he made himself available for me as well because he took a great liking to me. He still does. I have mentioned before that my daughter has poop problems. Her brother, L, had them too in his time. It was really awful. He would literally sit on the pot and scream at his poop, telling it that he hates it, wants it to die, etc. etc. It gets embarrassing, sad, and hilarious. He would retain, retain, retain until he had to deliver a big healthy baseball and then do it all over again. This took a toll on our toilet. Let's not forget to remember that I had an inferior plunger then too. I was not well-versed with plungers back then. I just remember those days as being full of fecal matter up to my---well, just all over my body. Whenever the kids are sick or some accident happens, I am the one that cleans that madness up because Dear Sir would just add to it. You know?

So, one day the toilet was so bad I just didn't think it was going to work anymore. I called Dear Sir's father and he came over in a jiffy. My own younger brother was around the house then with me and so they were both laboring over my toilet. Apparently the damage was so bad that my father in law had to remove the toilet from the floor. I immediately felt a rush of gratitude and obligation (perhaps that is why I am writing this now). He and my brother carted that crap-infested porcelain thing to the grass outside and my father in law proceeded to take a stick and work unclogging it.

Usually what happens with my father in law and me is a little lesson. He would take me along like we were on a home improvement show and show me "how it is done". He said I had a knack for mechanical things and he liked my being his "assistant." So when he got that toilet down on the grass, he had me kneel down there beside him and watch.

He said (and excuse my French), "You see, there, Rachel, it is a matter of scooping out the shit." I didn't think I had ever heard him cuss before. I imagined myself taking a stick and using it to gingerly scoop out human feces and I thought, yeah, I might say that too. It really stunk. It was bad. I mean, this was weeks of poop just clogging up the pipes. Maybe I won't get into it anymore. Let's just say that that patch of grass he left the poop on got really green.

So I come back from my reverie while ironing and think, "Man, my father in law must really think I'm something."

Packing, Chris Farley and David Spade

While the Master was at the Catholic Church yesterday with my oldest son on a sort of "field trip" (since it was a Latin Mass), I was home packing. I decided that I would make a real dent in it. When he got home, I decided that I needed a little break from packing to go and run for a bit. I ran six miles and then came home and packed some more. In between somewhere Dear Sir told me to shower because I smelled ripe. I packed until the kids bed time and boy, do I feel it today. I was lifting extremely heavy boxes to the downstairs over and over, praying that I would not fall. I am a little clumsy at times. We have tons of books. It is crazy. I was so tired when I layed down my head, I just mumbled something to Dear Sir. I remember still being awake when he started snoring. It never fails. I am never tired enough to fall asleep first.

The kids are at the moment hoping that I forgot about school so they can continue to play with their light sabers. The coolest thing this morning was when my oldest was waltzing around with the thing and thinking he was all fancy and cool and then he wacked his own head with it. "Ow!" he yelled.

I really think sometimes he is Chris Farley reincarnated. Usually when he hits himself or trips and falls he says (talking to himself), "You're so stupid! Quit! What a fool!" ---Then he shakes it off and acts like he is cool again. For some reason it reminds me of all those Farley/Spade movies.

I better check out and go teach my children. Thankfully I don't have to use my arms.

Oh My Word

I feel really bad. Dear Sir has to ask me to iron. I would gladly scrub a whole row of really rank dirty toilets than iron. It faithfully piles up every day and the poor guy (I call him my clothes horse) goes through the stuff. It makes me sweat. I have since made my peace with sweating since I run quite a bit, but ironing is different. I think it is because I have to stand there and have patience. I like to do things quickly. Like when I put dishes away. I don't think there is a time when Dear Sir does not say, "Oh My Word! Can you slow down?! Do you want to break something?!"

The thing is, I don't break things. I don't break dishes. I would be more likely to burn a shirt though, just leaving the iron on it to get a really stubborn wrinkle out. I have caught myself getting distracted and doodling with something else while there is the iron on the shirt steaming away. "Oh crud!" I think. I have this image in my mind of this 80's movie with John Ritter (I don't know what movie it is for the life of me) accidentially leaving an iron on a shirt and so the shirt completely burned. He was like, "Oh crud!" Yeah, that sounds like me.

You have to see that Dear Sir learned how to iron properly in the U.S. Air Force. He probably would have had to get down and do fifty if a superior saw his cami's had a wrinkle. I would much rather do fifty. A hundred. At least I would get something out of it. But the good thing about ironing is this: just like a girl who has no idea how to shoot a rifle or how to whack a golf ball would need her dear one to come along side her and teach her these things, I have my very own Dear to show me how to iron properly. And he does, believe me. It has taken him five years of bearing with a chronic wrinkle that I always leave on each and every shirt to even mention it to me. Finally one day as I was ironing in his presence he said, "Here, let me show you how to do that part." He is so very kind, you know.

And there are so many things I just never know about this Long-Suffering man. I just found out late last year that he actually dips his torilla chips in salsa. Since he is so picky I jumped at that and now it is a regular staple in our diet. I never really knew that a Whatchamakalit (whatchahoweveryouspellit) was his favorite candy bar until someone "tagged" him. I have always been told that he will eat scrambled eggs, but I have never seen him eat them. I have found that the most important thing with a man like this is to not TELL him what is in something. I have trouble with this. I know I should not tell him, but then I feel really dishonest. I feel like I am lying to him, so I always spill the beans (by the way, he would never eat beans). Real women shut their mouths. I have to season myself for a few more years. I feel it coming.

Hey, I just got word from my youngest son that the oldest (the snapper) has been "snapping all day and it is driving (him) nuts!" I can hear the echo of the snaps from where I sit. When will it end? I hear it from morning till night. I swear I wake to it. He snaps until he falls asleep, practically.

Code Yellow

I can just picture myself being in this show called "The Disheveled Housewife". It seems like everywhere I go I am looking for a kid or telling a kid to stop hanging off of a clothes rack or something. I planned on taking the kids to Target to get them out of the house so that these people could walk through. I suddenly could not find my keys and the doorbell was ringing and here I was running around in mass search. My two younger children were already outside waiting for me. I kept yelling through the window to my daughter, "Have you seen my keys?" She kept shaking her head---I thought, "forget it" and kept looking. After searching for a good fifteen minutes (by then the door bell rang) I finally, in desperation asked my daughter again. I grabbed her and put my hands on her shoulders. "Now, if you know where my keys are, please find them for me, ok?"

"Uh, just a minute. I know where they are," she says.

She proceeds to go outside and finally she comes upstairs with my keys in hand. By this time I had already called my husband at work, chewing him out for who knows what. I was so mad. I thought that he had something to do with it since he tends to delete, throw away, and misplace things of mine---I think he thinks I am messy.
Well, she had them outside the whole time, under a tree, for who knows what reason. She has been severely punished.

So I took them to Target. I lost my daughter there, temporarily. I lose a kid about 4 out of the 5 times I take them anywhere. They wander off who knows where and I am a wreck after five minutes of looking, hand on heart, breathing uneven, and looking like a frantic freak. I think of what Dear Sir would say to me when he finds out I lose a human being. The horror of it. I actually got to talking to the Security lady and she was about to call a "code yellow" when I found her looking at the Barbie movies in the movie section. A mother's mind goes in a million directions at this point. I kept telling the kids once I got them in one area that maybe I should put them up for adoption because I can't seem to keep them with me. My oldest wailed, "But Mom, you know Dad would never go for that!" Does it help to tell you that I lost my daughter yesterday too?

So all of you who think I am this great mom who is at the top of her game, yeah right. I am the Code Yellow Lady. I lose kids. Don't let me watch yours.

Disruption

I have to get out of the house these days so that people can flock in to view the new "rental". It is really annoying. I pay a huge rent and I have to let people come in to see the house. It kind of makes no sense to me. Realtors and people come to the door daily without calling first. This happened today, of course. I was just finishing up school with the boys and they were having their break. The house was a mess because they were playing Lord of the Rings or something by the couch. I had hardly picked up from lunch. The door bell rings right in the middle of havoc time. I couldn't believe it. The realtor peeks her head in the door I open.
"We didn't call first," she says.

"No, you didn't," I say with a little wince on my face.

"Do you mind if we come inside and take a look?"

"No," (a child squeals), " I don't mind. Just know that there is a mess and I have kids everywhere."

"Oh, that's ok, don't worry about it. We don't mind!" she says.

Then it happened again tonight. Same thing. This time I was prepared because someone came (after they called ahead of time, thank you!) and the house was still in an ordered shape by then. I don't know if I will be able to do a whole month of this. This is already getting really old. It is a total disruption and I have PAID money to live here in peace. I already have to put the kids to bed after eight so that people can feel free to ring my doorbell and waltz right in and feel comfortable while doing it. It would be a little strange if I had them in bed already. "Oh, it's ok, she's asleep, just take a peek real quick!"


So, with all this in mind, I went to Trader Joe's again with the kids today to kill time. An employee that is there all the time looked at me in the face and shook his head. "Weren't you here yesterday?" he asks.
"Yeah, I forgot to buy something," I say to him. He shakes his head again and walks away. Usually the TJ people are really cool---I mean, I think that guy is ok, but I must have annoyed him by showing up two days in a row. I actually did not want to go to TJ's, but my youngest son wanted these cookies there and I thought that I would go and get them (he tried the demo yesterday and loved them) to kill time if I had to. Well, I had to kill time.

In the car, my little now recovering biffed-up daughter had the window rolled down. Dear Sir took the power window car, so I had the do-it-yourself-car. So, that means, when the window gets rolled down by a kid I have to beg them to roll it back up. I have no authority on that when I am driving. I often tell them when I am driving that if they do not stop screaming, kicking, touching each other and whining, etc, I will most likely crash and we will all be sorry because we will be dead. So, the little girl had the window rolled down. She was flinging her arm out, waving it around.
My oldest says, "Hey, maybe you shouldn't put your arm out like that, you might regret it."

So my daughter says, "What? I am just waving at Jesus!" She waves over and over, looking up toward the sun.

My oldest son says quite theologically, "Come on, you have to know that Jesus does not live in the sky or on the sun! We have talked about this already! We just can't see Him, okay?"

She shrugs him off and continues to wave.


We got the call again shortly after we arrived home to go kill more time. I decided that we would go to the lake down the street by the apartments and feed the ducks some old bread. The boys were very reluctant to go and my girl was totally willing since she loves to feed ducks. I dragged them out somehow. My oldest brought his huge stick to ward off the bugs (plus I sprayed his "Off!" on him too) and we were good to go. We found one duck and then went to the other side of the lake to find two more adult ducks and four baby ducklings. We feed this hissing birds by throwing the bread at them. The boys thought that they could catch fish. My oldest said that he should spear them with his stick and get this, "bring them home for sup," but I told him that it is impossible to do that. Everything was serene until we starting walking home. First, I stepped on my daughter's injured toe. While that was going on, my son saw the biggest bee of his life and screamed like a banshee. Of course that made me jump, and caused me to be very irritated and then he started crying because he was convinced that all the insects in the world were after him. He started screaming (and I mean screaming) and crying (real, wet terrified tears) and I had to somehow get him back to earth. He totally panics. He says crazy stuff like, "the bees all hate me!" and "I am never going outside again!" "this is hell to me!" " this is the worst day of my life!" It goes on and on. He goes from one extreme to the other until I can't even be mad anymore about it. It is almost pitiful.

Here is my favorite quote from him today: "I'm never going to live this through!"

When teaching my oldest his math he said to me (after studying my face), "You have wrinkles. Around your mouth. I heard that it's from laughing. You never laugh, Mom."

I find that I do hardly ever laugh around them. Boy, do I need to change.
To be honest, I have reasons why I don't laugh very much. I am afraid to. I am afraid that if I let down my guard they will not obey me. I am afraid that they will not take me seriously. I don't know why that would make any difference to them or me, but it is some inhibition I have. I think my mother was the same way. That is not a good thing. I know the solution of "just laughing" seems easy, but it is really not that easy for me. I am a very serious person usually. Introverted too. I prefer thinking over talking. I really, don't know why the heck I am writing this. I know for a fact that the times that the kids do see me carefree and laughing is when Dear Sir is home. I notice the change in myself immediately and I get so used to it that it does not even phase me anymore. It turns into life and then it turns into "that is just life." I hope to change this soon. Tomorrow. I have experienced a child that had a minimal amount of affection from a sanguine mother---when she grew up her mother tried to be different. The daughter could hardly stand it. It was different, weird, and feelings were truly mixed about the whole thing. Of course other factors are in this story, but I won't go into them. They are not wholly mine to tell. To make a long story short, the thought of affection with her mother almost made her sick. I don't want this to happen with me and my children.

I think the bottom line is that when we grow up, have children and help them grow up, we truly find how selfish we really are. We are not those innocent little creatures we always thought we were. We actually get worse and we find new ways to get worse. That little seed of sin is watered every day. Thankfully God prunes it down---leaves scars for us to remember so that maybe we will not do the same things again. I find that sometimes I am kicking and screaming while the pruning is happening. Where is the love in this? I think I need more, to be honest. And not more love for myself, but more for the crazys that live with me.

The most honest thing I heard from someone lately was something I heard from my very own daughter's lips: "I love my brothers, my mom, my dad, and of course, me!"

Fact is, I would most likely have "me" on the beginning of my list.---No joke.

The Kids These Days

So I went to Trader Joe's tonight to get some chips. I take all the kids with me as usual and of course, I am a little frazzled and barking orders---you know. I decide at the last minute to buy Dear Sir some beer and I get to the checkout. My oldest kid is sitting on the riding lawn mower cart reading right by the register. My two younger ones are twirling around, picking up packs of gum, you know the routine. The guy at the checkout(who is acne-faced and probably 18) takes the beer and scans it. I quickly pull out my ID (like I usually do because they always ask me) and what do you know, the guy shakes his head and says, "No, there's no need for that."

"Oh, really? That's a first!" I say.

"Hey! Quit that!" he says.

"What? Quit what?" I say.

"Not you---him---he keeps pushing that button on the cart...it gets really annoying."

I look at my kid. "Knock it off," I mouth to him.

"Yeah, sometimes they can be annoying," I say.

"Do you want this beer in a bag?"

"Uh, no. I don't care. Whatever."

"Looks like you've had a long day," he says.

Oh nice, I think. Thanks a million. First tell me "there is no need" for my ID because I look like a geezer, and then tell me that I am weathered too. Like I look like the last dog died and I just "happen" on a Trader Joe's with all my crew and think, "hey, I think I will buy some chips and beer!"

I look over at my kids. The youngest one is outside the store smashing her face in the window, hands splayed out, looking like a terror. He looks at her---he looks at me.

"Every day is a long day," I say.

To Marry

I love this. Last night my oldest was watching "Gods and Generals" with us. I think there was some point where Stonewall Jackson has a baby and of course, he thinks his wife is the only woman on earth.

My oldest says, "Dad, should I marry? I don't know if I want to. Does everyone do it?"

My husband says, "No, not everyone marries, but most people would like to."

"I don't mind getting married I guess," then he says wincingly," just as long as my husband---I mean, my wife, when she borns a child---I really don't want to be in there---cause you know...I could keep the medical manual, you know, and it will be sort of an heirloom---it may help, but I don't want to be in there."

My oldest son said one time that the only use for his marrying would be to have someone cook for him---then he came up with the grand idea that his sister could live with him and his brother and she would do all the dirty work. I don't think she was too excited about that.

Insects

My oldest hates insects. Well, he doesn't really hate them, he is completely frightened of them. I have probably already written about this. I will say again if I have not said it already, it is a hindrance and a problem. If he hates insects, he hates Spring and Summer. If he hates insects, he carefully avoids any flower, flowering tree, long grass, you get it. If he hates insects he screams when a bee comes anywhere near him. If he can see the bee from far away that means it is a large one and he will scream at that too. He will even scream if it is outside and he is inside, safe with the window screen in front of him. Sometimes I am stupid and thoughtless and want to get all "Ralph Waldo Emerson". I will try to take the kids to the park by walking there and it is a chore. I have to literally threaten them (mainly the oldest) by telling him that if he can not calm down and act normal on a walk without complaining and going crazy, he can just spend the rest of the afternoon in his room and enjoy the scenery there. So a dear friend gave me an idea that I would buy some "Off!" and keep him happy and protected with that. He read the label and saw that it didn't protect him from bees. He figures that wards off enough insects, so he does have me faithfully spray it on him anytime he needs to take a step outside---to get a paper, to play, to go to the car to get to the store, you know, when you need to go out. Outside. The horrors of OUTSIDE. Man of the House says that we need to just get him a "charm" (he was joking) to ward off the bees. A "bee taming charm".
Yesterday a kid saw that he had a scrape on his ankle and told him that he must have gotten bit by a black widow. He came inside very concerned (but under control) and had me look at it. I said, "It's a scrape. Spiders don't scrape you, they bite." He had a hard time believing me. He said, "Well, you ought to pull out the manual to make sure, Mom. You never can be too careful, you know. He told me that I will most likely feel very weary tonight----I don't want to die." He said something like that.
I try to convince him that bees don't hurt you unless you antagonize them, but he still does not care. If it buzzes, he freaks out. If it flies, he is flying. Dear Sir and I wonder how he would be like with the Cicada outbreak every 16 years. I am almost certain he would have a heart attack and kick the bucket. Thankfully we missed it. It would be his Twilight Zone episode.
So I have to take the kids somewhere today. The response from my oldest: "There are too many bees there, Mom, I am not going." See what I mean?

Snap Attack

Ok, so I almost lost it just now. It really depends on your point of view---I could have almost lost it, but then I could have totally lost it to some people. My oldest has not stopped snapping. It drives the Master out of his mind, I usually just ignore it, and so life goes on. Just a bit ago he was in a snapping frenzy. I kept telling him to cut it out but it was like he was trying to finish an overture or something. I sat down next to the pc and he starts creatively snapping in my ears--loud, annoying, cracking, and with great fervor, apparently in a snapping daze. I am serious, it was really in my ears, over my head around my face. I could have belted him over the head I was so annoyed, but I just told him to get away from my head and snap upstairs. What is the attraction? He doesn't have Turrets.

He has been screaming too, lately. The day before yesterday he got so angry at his brother he screamed, "NO!" at the top of his lungs in the house while the windows were open. Dear Sir was just outside about to walk in from work and saw all the neighbors look in the direction of our house sort of wonderingly. Our next door neighbors were really friendly when we first moved in. I think I let it slip once that we home school and that we are Christians and they haven't carried a conversation with us since. I go to the grocery store and she acts like she does not see me. She runs in her house every time I am outside. Now our kids scream. They caught me playing guitar outside once. To top things off, I must look like a freak because I have such a pale complexion that when I run I look like a crazy demon. I know I look like I am about to die but it is just that I have such light colored skin. All the foreign people that are walking on my running route laugh at me as I run by. Really, they do. I can see how they smile and then chuckle. I suppose I am the "red runner". So, sometimes when I come back from running a long while (and that means I am extra special in my ruddiness) those neighbors are out there and so I just look down hoping that they don't look at me. Thankfully, when we move in our new house my One and Only is going to buy me a treadmill so I won't have to scare the new neighbors.

Well, Scarface is needing my attention and she wants me to help her get dressed, so that ends my little speel for the day. Her lip is back to normal, so that is good. Maybe she can eat today like she couldn't yesterday. Poor thing. She couldn't even talk clearly, no one could understand her. She kept getting frustrated having to repeat herself.

Spellcheck is not working so hopefully I did not make too many errors. Bear with me.

Wipe Out, Dude

My almost five year old daughter biffed it on her Barbie big wheel. She was riding it as fast as she could down a decline. The neighborhood kids brought her to the door on a wagon. She was bleeding everywhere and whimpering. They rang the door bell. I carried her into the house and cleaned her up in my bathroom and noticed that she totally skinned her big toe. All the top skin flayed off. She also biffed up her face---she must have fallen on her mouth. Her lip is about double its size. She has skid marks below her nose and on her chin. She touched her upper lip and cried, "Mom, I don't like it this way!" She looks like she lost a fight to Mike Tyson. I showed her her face in a mirror (she insisted) and she said, "I hate it."

She is lamenting the fact that she is not playing with her friends but is happy that she can sit and watch Barbie in the Nutcracker while she ices her lip and drinks water. She was so brave!

My youngest son is so protective of her; he came up to the bathroom when he found she was hurt and took a look at her. Since she was bleeding quite a bit it scared him and he started to baby talk her and was crying piteously. What a good brother.

I think she looks kind of cute all dinged up.

Dental

Allright. So you know, I went to the dentist yesterday. The whole place is Asian---very clean---they are always early rather than late, and they never really know what I am saying. I think they get the idea, but I sure do know that they don't speak English as well as I do. I walk in and the dentist himself is behind the counter like he is the receptionist and he just jerks his head to the side as if to say, "we're ready for you now." The dental assistants are all ladies---really pretty ones---and they all wear pink uniforms. They always smile and never make sense to me. For some reason I trust this Asian dentist (not meaning to sound racist at all) more than some American dentist. I have had so many problems with dentists in my past and they have all been Americans. I have actually only had one really good American one and he was a Mormon (not that that matters, really). I have had dentists make me wait all day long as I am rolling around in pain, I have had that several times, actually. I have never in my life had a dentist waiting for me behind the counter completely ready for my arrival himself and so stinking prompt that he finishes early and does an outstanding job at that.

I tried yesterday to be completely calm and disciplined for their sake. How odd it is to be working in someone's mouth. I always loved pulling teeth when I was young---my best friend's mom used to tell me I would make an excellent dentist. I still think I would.

So, I just sat there and opened my mouth and let them do their thing. It was a bigger procedure than I thought. I have to go back in two weeks to get it finished! I couldn't understand him really, when he explained the procedure to me, but for now I have a temporary crown---and get this---he told me if it falls out for some reason to come back in and they will cement it in again! What fun! I am reluctant to chew on that side, as you may well imagine. The worst part of the whole thing was when he put gauze in my mouth. I hate gauze. It is another one of my Room 101's. He put the stuff in my mouth for some reason (I was numbed so I could not feel my ear even) and when I heard him say "bite down" I did not obey. Then he said it louder and I knew I had to do it because perhaps he had something really bleeding in there. It was horrible. It is worse than the needle with the novacaine, worse than that sharp pinch in your jaw, worse than accidentally feeling the drill. I think Dear Sir feels my pain. I tried to explain it to him yesterday as he was getting in the car to go back to work (he came to hold down the fort while I went---bless him!) and he just shook me off and drove away. You see the worst in people I guess, when you mention their Room 101's.

Gums and Gummies

I was going to write about dental work, but I thought better of it. For one thing, I love going to the dentist. I love to get my teeth cleaned. It is pretty awesome that people "clean" out your teeth for lots of money and then you get to go home feeling sore and fresh. I love feeling sore in my gums. It is a rare thing now, but when you are a faithful flosser it sort of feels good. I have to get a crown done today. I was going to write a funny story about my last visit, but alas, I am too vain and it would reveal too much about my mouth. No, I don't have dentures. I may as well have them though. Goodness. I just have bad teeth. As much as I say that I would love to live in England, I know that if I were raised there I would be in deep trouble. Not that any of the dental work I have had in my deep past has been any good for me. I would just be up the creek, if you know what I mean. Yeah, she looks nice, except when she smiles. Thankfully my teeth are straight and even so I can fool people. I really didn't mean to even write this much about dental work.

I got my oldest son Spy Gear for his birthday. He could care less about one of the items, but the other he thinks is the greatest. I knew it would be horrible when I saw it but stupidly I bought it anyway. I just knew he would love it. With that I also got him a huge tub of gummy worms. He keeps it in his room. I have caught his sister and brother helping themselves and I am faithful to inform them that the gummy worms are their brothers and they are not community gummy worms. My oldest has gotten so distressed with this he has facilitated his spy gear for this. The spy gear item that he loves the most actually records your voice and when you press a button you can set the dumb thing anywhere and apparently it has a motion sensor or something on it, which makes it more annoying. You walk by the thing and it talks to you. The idea is that you "think" so and so is right near you when you walk by but really they are hiding behind the stair case laughing at how they tricked you. Dumb, I know. So, my oldest son decides that I am a good keeper of the gummy worms and so he puts them on the floor near me. On top of that he puts his spy gear device.
"Walk by," my son says to his sister.
She walks by.
"I know you want my gummies! Get away from the gummies! E---! L---! Get away from the gummies! Uh, if it's you, mom, you can have one if you want."

I wouldn't run for President.

Brothers

Yesterday my daughter (who is almost five) was lamenting her lack of friends playing with her outside. I don't let her go to the park with the boys (just across the way) because she is too young. She hates this. She says, "But Mom, they can be in charge of me...the boys. I swear I will obey them so please let me go to the park!" This obviously does not work with me. I get too afraid for her being there with boys that are not old enough to help her.

So, as Man of the House clipped the hedge and I read a book while she played out front, she said, "I know! I have a friend to play with me: Jesus! I knew it!"

For now I tell her stories at night about a "muddy kitten" who rolls in the mud, ruins her mothers flowers, and her sissy kitten catches her. Sissy kitten goes to mommy cat and brings her outside to tell on muddy kitten. Mommy cat catches muddy kitten in action. (And this is where the story gets like me) Mommy cat decides that since muddy kitten ruined her flowers she would proceed to get the hose and hose her down because she is not clean enough to go in the house. My daughter laughs and laughs at this.

Man of the House tells her stories of knights, toads, princesses and lances and stuff. I would have loved that. For some reason she wants to hear more about muddy kitten---even more than the princess stuff, which surprises me. But of course, she thinks I am the greatest thing because I am a girl.



Yesterday we went to that sorry Architectural Museum in D.C. It was ridiculously boring. Dear Sir and I decided that it would be better if we had gotten a book on architecture instead---we would have seen more pictures (not that we even wanted to see pictures--) and more interesting things. They had some cultural Jewish exhibit there that had nothing to do with architecture, a craft show, and pretty much nothing else. I saw some pictures of houses in California with dates on them and we looked at when the Metro started. That is about it. We walked up and down that building (all the floors) and found nothing but empty rooms and little break rooms with coffee makers in them. Completely useless. The one thing we wanted to do was to stand in the middle of the building with all the pillars and look up, etc, but the stupid craft show was taking all that room and we could not even get inside. Don't get me wrong, some of the Smithsonian Museums are good, but some are just terrible and worthless. Just a big room full of junk or thrown together ideas. I understand that the Architecture one is probably under construction. I understand that. I just would not deceive people and say the thing is open when it is pretty much empty. Totally empty.

I am in the mood to go to the Museum of American History. I am not a huge fan of America or it's history---although I should not say that altogether. I do love history, I just like reading NOVELS about it, not usually non-fiction. I have been interested in the Civil War a lot---I always have been---so it would be good to see some stuff about that, although I don't like the praising of Abraham Lincoln (please don't bite me people!)---it just makes me sick---sorry. I am interested in knowing more about him and the War though, so that would be worthwhile. We keep talking about going to Ford's Theatre, so maybe we will do that. I used to hate the south. I mean, I just hated the culture and the weather, and just anything to do with it. I really love it now. My bad memories of it had nothing to do with the South itself, but had all to do with my own bad experiences that the South can not take the blame for. I have some really fond memories there, really. I should not throw it all out. I also have read a lot of books on the South, so I understand the culture a little better now than I used to. Coming from a California type mindset, my sort of culture and theirs is almost like night and day in comparison. Anyway, I could go on forever on this and offend many people and compliment many people, but I won't. I see that the South is kind of a bad word as far as the Civil War goes (if we think about it that way). I will say no more so Big Brother will not hear me.

Planes

I went running last night and came home to Eleysium watching planes crash into the WTC over and over again. I thought, "Morbid" at first and then he wrote this. He really does have a point.

This prospective story by popular demand:

My daughter and I have the same small, cramped, little bladder. I remember as a child I would always fear being in traffic (I was raised in CA) and having to tell my father that I needed to go to the bathroom. I would avoid drinks before a trip, I would try to keep my mind off it, but once in a great while (taking all these precautions) I would have this tick in my brain saying, "Your bladder is a quarter full, it keeps filling....now it is half full...." I have only wet myself once (we are NOT counting when I was pregnant) and that was in the third grade.

I remember it well. How could I forget? My government school had earthquake drills. For these drills they closed the bathrooms by putting tape over the doors (don't ask me why) but all of us kids felt that it was a sign that we had to "hold it" if we had to go. My best friend Ann and I held it all day. I was pretty much seeing yellow, it was so terrible. We got out of the tail end of lessons to get to that now untaped door and relieve ourselves. The problems is that during drills they turn off the lights and in some huge public restroom it is hard for a third grader to find the lights. Especially in the dark. Ann and I knew this so as we hopped around trying to hold our pee, we discussed who would keep the door open and who would go in first. Ann, bless her heart forever, said that I looked like I needed to go first (I think she thought the wince on my face would not fade if I did not relieve myself as soon as possible) but being stupid, I said, "No, you go. I think I will be ok." She even said, "Are you sure?" By this time I was almost about to say I was not sure, we were stalling just talking about who was going to go, and I couldn't handle it. But I kept on by saying, "Just go." Or something like that. What happens next I will never forget for the rest of my life. Poor Ann, it is not her fault. Bless her soul, I say. As I heard her tinkle in the dark, dank, bathroom it got harder for me to hold it. I remember looking around trying to distract myself---at this office building, at the multi-purpose building--the sun was beating in my face. I think that was the point of no return. I did not realize that there was a point where the bladder hits "full capacity" and there is sharp pain and you know, heaven help you, but you lose it. There is no going back, there is no passing go and collecting $200, you have lost it. What gets me is at this state you can't even empty out "half a bladder". It just runs like the dam broke and it is over. I looked down and there was the puddle---a large puddle. Ann walked out of the bathroom. I can't even remember what she said. I know that she felt bad---she may have said something like, "You should have gone first. I didn't have to go that bad!" That sounds like Ann. My jeans (Yes! I was wearing jeans!) were soaked. The gentle California breeze made me cold---hey, I was warm for a little while, but soon you get cold, you know what I mean if you ever get your jeans wet in the ocean, or someone throws you in a pool for a good time. Everything else that happened until I got on the bus to go home is a blur. All I remember is that I was in line to sit down and I sat on the seat quickly to avoid anyone noticing. I don't remember if anyone did then. When I got off the bus was the worst. I got up and there was a pool of wetness on the seat. "Great," I thought. I thought that I could quickly get off the bus as quickly as I got on, but the person behind me wanting to get off accidentally swept past my pants with his hand and all I heard was, "Uh!!!" To say the least I was embarrassed and wanted once again for Scotty to beam me up.

So, my daughter, I think, inherited this. I feel bad for her, really I do. When it hits her she has to go immediately. There is no "tick" yet to tell her that her bladder is half full or at a fourth of its capacity. I have to coach her, literally. Usually it is on a long car ride and this weekend that is what happened. We were on our way to the park in Great Falls to have the picnic. We got lost, took a few wrong turns, and pretty soon the girl had to go. Thankfully, we found a CVS. I got her out of the car and she was dancing around. "You can do it!" I said. "You are so good! Be brave! You're the best!" I said further. I picked her up and took her in.
"Where is the bathroom?" I asked the cashier.
She looked at me dumbly like she was going to refuse me by saying that the bathroom is not public. I knew what she was going to say so I said, "Please!"
And she said, "Uh, over there!" and just pointed to some vague place (I had no idea where) at the other end of the store. I had put the girl down by this time and she was following me. "Mommy, I can't!" She cried.
I picked her up and said, "Yes, you can! You can do it! We will get there! Hold on!" And I proceeded to run frantically through the store wondering if my hip felt warm or not---looking for that stupid bathroom. I found a stock room. I went in even though it said "employees only." I looked around in that room for a bit and finally found a bathroom after trying a few doors. It was ridiculous. You know, when you have to worry you get frantic---you fumble, make mistakes, and just pray for the best. My daughter was in pain. She was crying. She was jyrating around like a madgirl using all the necessary power in her little body to hold the waters back. I remember hating her shorts when they wouldn't go down quick enough, but finally I got them. She was in agony. I threw her on the pot and a cascade followed. "Thank you, Mom!!!!!!" She said as she cried (literally cried) tears of joy. I praised her and praised her and told her she was the best daughter and no one could do what she just did. "Oh Mom, you're so kind," she said.

So yesterday we were getting an inspection done at the house we are buying (and it is a long drive) and we have to get to a place many miles away. We hit a traffic jam, so my "tick" says, "You are three-quarters full" and I am afraid. It finally gets really bad. Man of the House is breaking traffic rules, cutting people off, and just over all doing a great job to get me to our destination because he knows. My daughter catches wind of what is going on and says, "You can do it, Mommy! I know how you feel! I am so sorry! You can do it!"

When we safely got to our destination she took her hand in mine and told me she would escort me to the bathroom and that she was "so proud" of me.

It Just Figures

All week we have been planning a picnic in Great Falls for Saturday (today). Last night I made fried chicken, biscuits, cookies, etc for the occassion. Sunday would be Easter and maybe we could go to our favorite church and before that have a nice dinner of ham and all the other stuff that goes with it. I even made this oreo dessert thing that is some family tradition for it. It is all exciting. The man of the house took two days off next week: Monday and Tuesday, so he would have a four day weekend. Monday is my oldest son's birthday (he will be ten) and we would spend the day with him and go mini golfing, and have tiramisu (his favorite dessert) and watch Narnia (I got that for him for his birthday), and eat popcorn. On Tuesday, like it can't get any better, is my eight year anniversary married to the greatest man ever, Man of the House. Eight lovely, wonderful years. We have all kinds of things planned for that day, I assure you.

So, guess what happens this morning? My daughter wakes up throwing up.

I am PRAYING and PRAYING that no one else gets sick. I know that usually does not happen, but last time my youngest son was throwing up everything went fine, no one else got sick. Man of the House is convinced that it was the erasers he was eating that caused this. I am not so sure. Anyway, we are all taking Acidophilous pills and hopefully nature will destroy the virus. I hope.

Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum!

I hate how when I don't have a glass of wine before I perform I am a nervous mess. Last night I sang with my good friend Laura Waters and of course, in regular Jammin' Java fashion, I could not hear myself very well and so on top of that my mouth was dry and pasty and I just prayed I was hitting the notes. Frustrating. The more frustrating thing is that I was totally calm before I went on stage.

Laura and I did very well though, so that is good, eh? Maybe we are the next Indigo Girls.

It was actually quite hilarious. Laura and I were waiting our turn to go up to the stage and before we went on a crazy over weight guy with curly gray hair sort of gathered on top of his head like a mop crooned (quite out of breath-like) some really weird songs with a state of the art pink keyboard. Laura was really hopeful before he started playing, saying stuff like, "This is great, come on Rufus (whatever his name was), show us what you got." When she saw the keyboard she was laughing and light-hearted, ready to be entertained. I was greatly afraid, to be honest. I would say that when someone goes on stage (some random act) usually what happens is about 80% of the time or more they stink. And I mean STINK. Let me just tell you that when the guy started playing I got worried even more. The first song was just awful. And it kept going on forever. The guy could not sing really and he could barely breathe. The music was like Nine Inch Nails (don't ask me why I am familiar with them) on crackahol. It was insane. Sort of industrial breathless chaos. The place was almost packed. When his mad music started playing people started leaving in a crazy fashion. Laura and I looked at each other and could barely stand it. We needed to revolt but could not. I mean, the music was ridiculously loud already. We would look crazy to ask people to stay behind until we got up there---listening to this guy was torture, I tell you.

The next song was absolutely over the top horrible. All I remember is that the main words were "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" The place got down to about 25 people. You know, I blame this guy for part of my nervousness. It was such stress to see all of these people leave like this. My nerves were just blown---it was over. I had to just submit. I mean, it is great to go up after a terrible act and sort of smooth things over, but this guy had left a literal battlefield of dead men. Not even we could coax the freshly dead men from their graves. He literally slaughtered the whole drove of them.

We told the waiter that he was awful and he said, "Well, he is not so bad, I guess. See that camera over there? Someone is doing a documentary of him!" Great.

So basically after all that mess I did the usual Rachel thing and did not sleep until 2 ish this morning---even after taking a sleeping pill. That guy messed with me man.

We sang "Further and Further Away" (Laura lead, I bgv) by Cheryl Wheeler and "Possession" (I lead and Laura bgv) by Sarah McLachlan. I think we did really well. The host said "wow" after we were done, I heard, and Laura and I can be happy that perhaps we were good just because maybe we are---not because the bottle of rum guy was ahead of us.

Nutrition Facts

My oldest son is obsessed with nutrition facts lately. You know the labels on the boxes of cereal and stuff. He looks at all the vitamins and minerals, looks at what in the ingredients is healthy and declares whether it is healthy or junk. He learned this from a book he has been reading called Food Rules.

So I let them eat cake this morning after breakfast for dessert.

There is a Lion Outside

My friend and I were on the phone the other day and she informed me that an inside joke that everyone shares in her family is something she witnessed in my home a few years ago.

She comes over to discuss our soap business and here my youngest boy (the eraser-eater) is stil eating his lunch and it has been about an hour since lunch started. His favorite thing to do back then (and is still a temptation now) is to throw himself on the floor and whine or at least whine while making himself go limp wherever he happens to be. So he pulls this malarkey. She looks at me wide-eyed (this look that she and I give each other when we are giving the situation a little more time before we start covering our mouths to muffle our laughter) and then turns and positions herself face to face with him. She is so good with kids, I tell you. She sees that he (obviously) does not want to eat and she says to him, "Now, L--m, this is good food. Do you think you could take a few more bites?"

He looks at her despondently and says, "But I am so tired! I am tired of eating and I have lifted my fork thousands and thousands of times!" (whimper, whimper, whine)

So whenever she, her husband, or any of her kids are tired of something, they complain and wail, "but I have done this or that thousands and thousands of times!"

The man of the house, when he heard about our child's level of laziness, was mortified. When I was first married to the man we used to laugh at the passages of the lazy fool in Proverbs who can not lift his food to his mouth or who does not want to go out (to work) because there is "a lion outside". You can imagine. This is not an inside joke in my home. I am glad others recieve joy from it though.

When my oldest (the ten year old) was little he used to do crazy things. I remember one time when the man of the house was working nights I would go and check on the little boy before I went to bed. I remember this one time he demolished his room. It was just awful. What made it especially interesting was that he was sleeping smack in the middle of it. I turned on the light and took a picture.

Another picture worthy is when Eraser-Eater was little (the youngest one who has lifted his fork thousands and thousands of times) he had this great walker. My oldest loved it. He thought it was so cool. I think maybe because it used to be his. Anyway, I heard him hollering and crying from the other side of the house and I ran to him wondering what the heck could be wrong. I thought maybe he broke a limb or something. Nope. He was stuck in the walker trying desperately to get out---his legs were too fat, the walker started to collapse, and he was panicking. I went and I got the camera, of course, and took a picture.

Those pictures are still in the photo album and everytime (it never fails) my Dear Sir sees it, he shakes his head and says, "Turn the page."

Everytime I make pancakes the kids yell, "Panda Cakes"!

We are off school for a full month (we homeschool). I decided to make them do one day of school a week so that once the month is over I am not pulling my hair out like I always am. It is amazing to see the kind of time I have if school is a non-event. It shocks me, really.

I better go do a bunch of nothing.

Toy Sentiment

Last night my youngest boy (the anti-rude, eraser eating maniac) was looking through some old photo albums. For some reason the kids love this. They love it, not usually because they want to see themselves or just memories themselves, they want to look at all their old toys that they opened up at Christmas or something.

When I put the boy to bed he said to me, "Mom, do you know that when I was looking at the pictures that I almost cried?"

"Oh, why?" I thought maybe he was sentimental about seeing me and himself in the early days, which would not surprise me but it would make me feel nice.

"Oh, because I saw all those toys that I used to have that I still love and I forgot about and I am sure you threw them away!"

If it were up to him, we would keep every fragment of every broken toy so that his room would be a huge trash heap, we would eat candy for dinner, and we would allow him to continue to eat erasers and rock himself to sleep (he wakes up the whole house creaking the bed so loudly and singing like he is a Native American).

Rude Mood

I am reminded on a consistent basis about my rudeness. This is a typical example that happens just about every day:

"Thank you Mom, for the wonderful dinner," says my youngest boy.

"Uh-huh," I say, which means you're welcome but I just am too lazy to say it.

Lately my youngest son will have none of it. He says, "Mom, you just say 'uh-huh'! You have to say 'you're welcome'! I don't know what 'uh-huh' means!"

I try to explain the 'uh-huh' to him. The next time I end up saying 'uh-huh' he says, "I think I know what uh-huh' means, but I would prefer it if you would say 'you're welcome'.

I am now trying to say 'you're welcome'.

The man of the house told me that I also forget to say "bless you" when people sneeze. I used to be so good about it. Lately I just let it go though, because hey, I am reading or I am busy cleaning something. The longer the time passes (the seconds between a sneeze and an acceptable 'bless you') I am in deep trouble. "Man, do you care that I just sneezed?" I soon hear. So, naturally, I am working on it.

I have found that I can be a moody person. There are times I just don't want to speak. Hearing my own voice in the stillness would jolt me out of my peace. I can't explain it any better than that. So, when I am peacefully reading, to interrupt and say "bless you" and shock my body with the loudness of my own voice would be so annoying. So really, it is a sacrifice for me, oh, man of the house.

Helmet Breakers Drama

Yesterday my youngest son started wailing. He had actually been good all day long---he only had this one mishap. Apparently my daughter told him (in her anger) that she was quitting the band (the future band called the Helmet Breakers). She was going to sing and everything---it was going to be perfect, you know? Anyone would yelp in despair. She had informed me only a week prior that she was going to reserve Fridays and possibly Tuesdays to this endeavor. Losing a lead singer is really a downer. Sometimes you have to pull a "Well, I guess we have to hire Sammy Hagar now", sort of stunt to stay alive. It's kind of good that they are getting all this serious stuff over with before the band really starts.

There is always drama, ridiculous drama in a house with children. I was just talking to a friend last night about how her granddaughter and her son were eating breakfast together (they are five years apart) and how they were fighting over who is going to look at the cereal box or tilt it this way or that way. Oh man. I have this fight almost EVERY morning with these little gnomes. I find myself putting up with it (stupidly) and then I come to my senses and just take the box. I can not even believe that I let someone have a turn and what not. I think, what would the man of the house do in this situation? He would take away the box. He would ban them from the box every time they ate. The box would not be in this situation at all. The box is silly. I learn too much from him.

Fights really are, "He is looking at me!" "She is touching me!" "He took my paper!" "He told me I was a nutcase!" "She didn't give me my vitamin!" "She is standing in front of the TV!" "He took my stick!" "He has a bigger stick than me!" "He told me my Neopet card is dumb!" My favorite one has to be, "Mom, she is quitting the band! She is quitting the band! AHHHH!"

Reminder Notes

My oldest is having the hardest time remembering to look at his new schedule that Mr. Wilhelm has so kindly posted on the refrigerator. It gets him in trouble too. We have all been at our wit's end about it too because it effects us all once the man of the house comes through the door. It is one of the first questions he asks: "Did you follow your schedule?"

The answer is usually "no." I think the kid is forgetful like his mother. We need lists and notes and things of that nature to remind us of what to do next. The last I heard was if he did not look at his important schedule he would have his gameboy taken away and he would lose Saturday morning cartoons.

So, I was helping my youngest son (who shares a room with this forgetful brother) get dressed and as I was exiting the room I noticed a note duct taped to the door saying this: "T--! (his name) Remember to look at your schedule and do it or you are doomed to lose gameboy and Saturday morning cartoons!"

I think he read it this morning. He is chipper, he has done all that is required, and the day I thought was going to be bad may be ok after all!

I like how he wrote "doomed". He is so ridiculous, I love it.

My "Disorder"

I chew my cheeks. It is a nervous habit, my doctor says. Pre-cancerous, probably but no one has seen it. I went on a live chat a number of years ago talking with other people like me. Well, they pulled out their hair all the time, strand by strand and got some weird pleasurable feeling every time. I thought it was exactly as it sounded--weird. They told me I was like them and had a disorder. A chewing cheeks disorder. I am sure there must be a fancy name, but I don't know it.

But then I am weird. I chew my cheeks. I probably should not get into detail, but I would probably be considered a cannibal. Wilhelm, when he is really tired of this habit, calls me a cannibal. At least he used to. I think he has given up these long eight years. Now he just hits my hand when I do it.

I used to use this habit to my advantage in high school. I have told one person about this recently, but that was only when I found that she was "one of us" and so I knew she would understand. I would bite hard on a cheek, draw blood, and suck out as much as I could. Finally, I would approach a friend or someone and open my mouth. I could draw out a lot of blood, seriously. I scared the living day lights out of them. Now that I think on that, it was probably not a good idea. I would see the fright in their faces and they would run. Then, coming to their senses (if they were a friend) they would approach me again and ask if I needed medical attention. They probably tell stories to this day about their freak friend who blasted out blood from her mouth and scared people.

Speaking of blood, I almost cut my thumb off last night cutting a sandwich for Wilhelm's lunch (yes, I make his lunch with much relish) with a very large knife and instead got a nice slice on my thumb. Now I have a Hello Kitty band-aid on it.

Wilhelm has about had enough of me in this area. I am always burning and cutting myself (unintended----unlike the biting myself in my cheeks) and he almost loses sympathy after awhile. I remember when we were dating he started a fire in this barrel in my backyard and started burning all the dried weeds that accumulated because no one in my house did the yard ( I just cleaned the house, mind you, and have never mowed a lawn in my life although since, Wilhelm has taught me to mow in case of sudden death) and the barrel got so hot he accidentally burned his arm on it. He would pull his arm out from time to time after that and say, "AHHH!!!" just for remembrance sake, and we would both laugh and chuckle every time. Not so when I slice myself. He rolls his eyes and says, "what am I going to do with you? I will have to ban you from all knives and hot objects!"

Maybe I should pull out the blood trick and scare him out of his wits. He does keep telling me to read the book, She ("who must be obeyed"). But then again, weighing my options here, that is really a bad idea. He would faint, he might hit his head on the way down, crack it open, and then I would be stuck mowing the lawn.

Eisley

We are going to go see Eisley tonight in DC. They are really awesome. When we first saw them they opened up for Coldplay for their Rush of Blood to the Head tour. I immediately knew Wilhelm would like them since he has a past love for Lush, and the vocals are fairy-like and ethereal. The guitars are jangly and the keys are almost a female light version of the Doors. I love them. You all should give them a try.

They are also Christians, but not really a Christian band. Their lyrics are silly and poetic, not really lyrics pertaining to God, but I would say very artsy. I think I have never heard so many catchy songs on one album before as their debut called Room Noises. All of their EPs are fantastic. God has blessed them with melodies and harmonies only sisters (with extreme musical talent) can pull off.

Their mother is the worship leader for the Vineyard Church in Tyler, Texas. Their siblings (many of them are in the band) and parents tour with them and show a great level of support. I think that is so cool. When we saw them in Idaho they signed a bag for my youngest since my daughter just LOVES them. So, as you all could imagine, she is jealous.

Mayhem

When my oldest son is hungry between meals he has this new thing now where he always says that he turns into "Starvey: the Hungry Boy". He asks me for food when he is "Starvey" much like Oliver would ask for more soup. I wonder if he reads too many comic books.

The librarian has noticed it. He goes to her every time to see if she has any unstocked Garfields in the back. He gets the same ones over and over. She asked him yesterday how long it takes him to read one book of Garfield comics. He could not give her a straight answer, but vaguely said that he just sits down and reads them all until he has something else he has to do.

Wilhelm and the boys often take dinnertime to make their own Garfield "panels". I don't know how he does it, but Wilhelm usually gets some sort of rise out of my oldest by maiming Garfield in some way. He makes Garfield get advice from Lucy for five cents or he makes Snoopy fly off his doghouse into Odie or something. Eventually my oldest just looks at me, rolls his eyes and says, "We're just going to have to ignore him, Mom!" By this time Wilhelm has gotten his joy for the evening and he is cackling away in the distance.



My youngest son is trying my patience lately. I think he wants extra attention, but I am not sure how to give it since I have been trying my best. Yesterday he did not want to put his shoes in the shoe basket so he threw himself on the floor (he is seven, mind you) and started to whine and moan. I have not seen this in a long time and thought it ridiculous, as you could well imagine. So I threw myself on the floor and whined and moaned until he started laughing and soon he saw how ridiculous it looked.
During school lately he will say stuff like, "I really have to go to the bathroom but I am too lazy to go."
He keeps asking me the same questions over and over about Neopet cards. I hate Neopet cards. They are much like Pokemon or Yugioh or something like that. Some made up baseball card cyber rip-off. A few months ago it was "I Spy" everything and now it is Neopet cards. Neopet dot com. Green Lupe's and Yellow Hasses---Blue star-speckled Scorchio's and Red Kacheeks. I know. What the heck. So now he asks me questions like, "Why don't they sell promo cards and put them in regular packs, Mom?" I have had this question a billion times put to me and I don't think he even wants an answer. He wants me to go straight to Target and buy him every pack for $3.50 a piece to make him gleeful. Not happening. He went on Neopet dot com yesterday (early after school) and then at dinnertime he said, "Can I go on Neopet dot com? You haven't let me!" I turned around as quickly as I could and yelled, "You just went on this morning!" I know, I yelled. This has been constant though. Constant. Did I mention that this kind of stuff was constant? Oh yeah, I did. Anyway, what is really happening is that he is trying to see if I forgot already because you know, I have memory issues. I feel like the guy on Memento, seriously I do. I am so much like that. I tell my oldest to "play piano" and he does for a few measures, I get busy with something and forget that he only played two measures. It gets that bad sometimes.

At the moment my youngest boy (Neopet Maniac Eraser Eater) dropped his pencil from his desk and he is desperately trying to "reach it" from the desk moaning. "I can't reach it!" He keeps saying. I literally have to tell him to get off his chair and go down and get it. I tell him this. "You should have told me!" He says.

Did I tell you that sometimes I want to jump from the highest window of a building?

Language

Last week when my oldest was sick he came to Wilhelm and I and sat down on our bed. He said: "Mom, Dad, I need medicine. I need medicine to treat my symptoms and I would further need medicine to treat the root of the virus that is causing these symptoms."

He makes things even more hilarious by calling a "cold" the "common cold".

I was reading a study of an Asperger's kid that talks like a professor. I was reading it to Wilhelm thinking that it was absolutely hilarious. He would say stuff like, "I am autistic, which, of course, is the adjective form of the word Autism." I pictured this kid talking all dignified and perfect. This kid in the study starts sentences with "I believe" and "Actually" in a consistent manner. Wilhelm pointed out that our own kid does the same sort of things. We just don't realize it ourselves. I am sure if a doctor sat and analyzed everything that our kid did and said it would appear weird and rather funny on paper.

Snapping Fool

I was just reminded of a silly goings-on at my house. You know how my oldest son has Asperger's. He has some funny things he does. The funniest thing lately is his snapping. He snaps all the time. He will stand with one hand on his hip, foot splayed out and the other hand waving around snapping while asking something simple like, "What's for dinner, Mom?"

"Why are you snapping?"

"I like it."

"Can you stop? It is not a normal thing to snap all the time."

"I just love snapping. I can't resist it."

Wilhelm asks him something like this every time he sees his snapping: "Do you see me snapping all the time for no reason?"

"Why, no, Dad."

"Why do you snap so much for nothing?"

"I just love snapping. I am good at it."

And he is. He is even more "snappy" lately because he has discovered that he can snap with both hands.

I remember my younger brother used to get this surge of energy, run in front of the TV that was constantly on, grit his teeth, and clap his hands has hard as he could over and over until we yelled at him to "move it". Now that I think on that it strikes me as odd. My mom used to say that he was in dire need to be the center of attention. Maybe he was jealous of the television, I have no idea. It just sort of sounds like the snapping deal. Oh well, one may never know.

The Remedy of a Truffle

I just discovered something about myself that I am not sure is normal or what. Whenever I think my daughter (who is almost five) is being "hormonal" or just grumpy, I give her a truffle or some sort of chocolate. It truly cures all ills. I just do it for her too, and no one else. It is this special girl thing we have going that no one else who urninates standing up can take from us, I suppose. Wilhelm shakes his head at me, the boys get jealous, but no one can stop us. I feel like Pat Benetar.

I love Fruity Pebbles...

Books

Just finished a Daphne DuMauier book called My Cousin Rachel. Wilhelm thought me narcissistic to check it out. I have heard of it for years, especially after reading her famous Rebecca, so it is really not my vanity, just mere interest. "Rachel" turns out to be snaky and unpredictable---I read it all in the past few days. It was sort of creepy---set in the first person and pretty much a close view of someone self-destructing. I like creepy books, I like it when people die at the end, and this has it all. I was just not convinced that the novel was set in Victorian times. The narrator spoke in too modern a way.

I am at the moment immersed in Wilkie Collin's book called No Name. I particularly like him.

I have this strange desire to pick up all the Hardy novels again and enjoy them. I find that I forget details as time goes by so it will be good to do that. Wilhelm just picked up a copy of Young Thomas Hardy at the used bookstore. I have been reading that too. It is really interesting because there is somewhat of a mystery with his life. He purposefully left out periods of his life in his own autobiography (the Life) and purposefully blotted out his own family (the poor side) on his family tree. It makes me laugh to think that he thought so badly of high society and it's views in his own novels but then disowns his low-class family because he wanted to be accepted so much by society. It sort of makes sense but it doesn't. It would not shock anyone to hear that he was obsessed with death and execution. I guess we could say the same about Dostoyevsky. Hardy's was an almost sensual feeling though.

Collins was never married and had two mistresses. Dickens could not stand his wife and had a mistress (or more I can't remember). George Eliot lived with her man and never married him. What is with these people?

Late

I realize it has been a handful of days since I have posted. I had this huge night on Tuesday singing at Jammin' Java (with the Einsteins) and then the next day I woke up with a cold. Figures, huh?

Yesterday the family and I went to the Capitol building and our friend who works for Senator DeMint toured us around. It was nice. We ran into John McCain, Elizabeth Dole, and our own Senator here in Virginia. It was sort of strange seeing all these people in person.

Wilhelm and I are both breathing really hard (nasal passages are blocked) and my children are living on frozen pizza, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and tonight they had Mc Donald's. I know, we are horrible. Lately they are obsessed with yelling at the top of their lungs downstairs and running around. They come up to the second floor out of breath, red and thirsty. I still don't understand what it is they are doing. Something having to do with Neopets, but I still don't make the connection.

My youngest boy is the quiet one. He always has been. When we are at church and people talk to him he says he "gets nervous". He came to me crying once telling me that he is not sure he will be able to have the band Helmet Breakers (my oldest's band is called The Speed Tickets) because he will get too nervous on stage. Before I left for the concert on Tuesday he yelled to me, "Sing good Mommy, and don't get too nervous!" Next time we are taking them with us, I think they would enjoy it.

Well, I better go and blow my nose. I feel a sneeze coming.

Church

I really know nothing of this and I am sure theologians would laugh at me, but I was thinking about Protestantism and and how I was raised with the Charismatic Evangelical sort of background and how there is really no foundational structure to it. We used to look down on Catholics and how they are "superstitious" and "ritualistic". It just seems to me, looking back, that we hated form, organization and frankly, a particular order of worship. We found it confining and pretty much would never dream of subjecting ourselves to something that was not "Spirit led". To me, the Catholics have a historical meaning and many reasons for doing what they do. The holy water reminds them of their baptism as a baby---Lent and "giving something up" is in honor of Our Lord who went without food for forty days and resisted temptation. It probably means more than that, but of course, like I said, I don't know too much. The Catholics have reasons for feasts, Holy Days, the Ash on their foreheads, you know what I mean. I suppose Protestants have their own reasons for things, but to me they seem shallow. I am not going to convert to Catholicism or anything, but I see more and more how shallow and new Protestantism is. We are a church full of divided individuals with no unity, differing opinions and no structure hardly. It just seems pathetic to me when infant baptism is replaced with "dedication" and the Lord's Supper (which is to be taken "often") is only taken once a quarter or less. Grape juice when it says wine. Crackers when it was bread.

I think about Luther and perhaps his stand was rebellion---maybe judgment on the Catholic Church. I could see either way. Luther takes his stand and where is Protestantism? Everyone breaks away from everyone. There is no order---everyone multiplies and divides and forms their own thing. I don't think that is that great. I get tired of a million different kind of churches everywhere.

At least before Luther you had one choice.

Wonder Woman Healed

Ok. Like things could not get better, I got a replacement for my Wonder Woman mug just now in the mail. When I was frantically looking for a replacement I ordered one that I "thought" was just "close" to the original. On my original mug there were two pictures. On one side, Wonderwoman in running formation and on the other side, a really cool picture of Wonder Woman from the middle up. I only found what I thought was her in the running formation (my least favorite side) so I was hoping that maybe they just weren't showing the other side (although another side was not specified). I stupidly (or wisely) prayed that it would be the same mug.


IT IS!!!

God even answers our silly prayers---I tend to think because it takes me back to my "Surprised By Joy" moment, like Lewis would say.

Now a bomb is going to hit for sure.

A Turn in the Garden

Too much to write about today. Ugh. The weather is so nice today, it is incredible. I never thought I would be crazy enough to say this. I hate warm, sunny weather. The past couple of weeks it has been a bit gloomy (my particular favorite) but this has been the time when I have been the most irritated and to be frank, full of bad things. I decided to start fresh like my husband always tells me, "As a Christian, you have the amazing ability to start again---we can always start again, Rachel.." and hello, the day is bright, the wind is cool and refreshing, and I feel almost as cleansed on the outside as I feel on the inside. Some fresh air running through your house is a reel of the senses. I now understand what all the Victorian novelists would say when they would write a character saying, "Let's take a turn in the garden and catch the fresh air!"

My oldest friend Ann told me that living in WI is very depressing to her (she is from California). It is gloomy all the time for about nine months and when she gets just one peek of sun or brightness through her windows she is practically jumping for joy. It makes all the difference. I so understand her at this moment. All I can think of right now is grilling outside, cutting grass, going to the pool, reading books, and drinking iced tea. I like the fact that I can run outside at later times. I like that a lot. I so look forward to that.

I look forward to vegetables in season----even if they have to be cooked---I have this insatiable craving for them.

Life is good. God has given us so many beautiful things to enjoy.

I really do not like the sun though. I hate squinting. Ok, ok, ok, I will try to keep the good thoughts coming...

Asperger's Syndrome

You know I have been irritable. I have been praying. I forget everything you know, and then I just forget to be practical. Schooling has been hard for me lately, as I have confessed. I have just gotten used to the fact that my oldest son has Asperger's Syndrome and I have dumbly not taken any of this into account. My son has actually been diagnosed with this five years ago and since he has made tremendous head way I just get used to the strange behaviours and count them as normal. It is weird how we just let things slip in our lives unnoticed. I let myself forget that my child has a disorder. I don't take these things into account when I am losing my patience.

So, I started looking up AS again, and looking up another strain of Autism that he has called Hyperlexia. He was born knowing how to read. I did not teach him. No one did. He has been reading since 2 or 3 and at four or five used to be able to sit and read Dr. Suess books to a friend as they sat down after hard play. So, naturally, Hyperlexia is this obsession with letters and numbers and also knowing how to read at an early age without being taught. I know that sounds crazy. I could go on forever about this subject, but I will not bore you.

So, yesterday I checked out books on how to homeschool challenging children, Asperger's Syndrome, and the like. My oldest, I forget, loves to look at the books I get. He is always interested. He asked who has this syndrome and why I was reading it. I just answered his second question. I told him I was interested. I did not know if it was ok that I tell him yet. Lately he has been noticing how different he is. He tries to tell me how he can't express himself, how he is misunderstood, and how his brain just does not think about certain things when he wants it to. He knows that he does not get humor either. He is socially handicapped. He has no clue sometimes how to act and is easily taken as a "rude kid."

I talked to Mr. Wilhelm about it last night after going over some of the material I checked out. I told him that I thought he was old enough to know what he has. So, this morning my oldest came to me again and said to me, "Mom, you have to tell me about this Syndrome."
I was really surprised he was so insistent on just knowing what it was about.
I told him straight. I said, "It is called Asperger's Syndrome and you have it."
"What? I have it? I thought so."

Pretty easy. In fact, when I told him the details of it, he was so relieved, I can not tell you. He has difficulties tying his shoes, riding bikes, he is clumsy, and he never knows when things are funny. I told him that there is a really good thing about it that he should consider. I let him know that as "stupid" as he sometimes thinks he is, he is actually highly intelligent and "highly gifted". He said (but not with the same words) that it was a good "trade off". He has a really realistic view of himself. He may not express it the correct way, but I know what he means. So, I have discovered that he is very sharp with the computer and just like I encourage him to look at medical manuals (I got him a book at the library on Microbiology---he loves science) I will encourage his computer skills by first giving him lessons in typing. He started today and could not get enough of it.

I guess all this time I have been gradually ignoring the fact that he struggles with this disorder. I treat him like he is by the world's standards, "normal" and I can not do that any more. I have to treat him like he is the individual that he is, otherwise he will not be able to learn if I don't apply it in that manner. Poor kid. I have been trying to fit him into a circular container when he was always a triangle. I think that would make any woman attempt to pluck every hair out of her head.

Irritable

I am really irritable today. I have been noticing it so that means it is bad. I had to take the kids to a million places and when we were at a store I pretty much ran over my daughter with the shopping cart when I was in line and I was about to give her the what for until this nice lady behind me laughed when I looked at my girl and so I said, "umm, are you ok?" My girl walked off like it was nothing.

Yesterday I was irritable too. I think THAT was because I woke up entirely on the wrong foot. Children yelling at me at 6:45 a.m. from downstairs. I was about to spontaneously combust. I am not a morning person. School has been challenging. I receive a whine every time I correct any incorrect work, a huff anytime I say, "pull out the book!" and so on. Pulling teeth. I always say that. But it is true.

I am complaining though. Life is good, things are going well, and I just need to change my attitude. I notice too that when I am hungry no one wants to be around me. I snap. My husband says, "Are you hungry or something? You have to be." He is usually right. I hate how I hate to have a good attitude when I don't want to.

I have had a lot of grief lately. You know, the usual. The Wonder Woman mug pretty much sad and lonely somewhere in a gross trash heap----the monstrous red zit on my face (it is finally clearing up a little) that a dear friend has told me to name "Darlene"---and last but not least, the HUGE bruise on my arm from over a week ago when I fell down the stairs. Yes, I fell. Down, down, down and did not break my arm. I almost cried. I tried so hard not to. My oldest saw me walking down and then saw me at the foot . "Oh, wow! Are you ok, Mom?"

"Umm....no."

"Here, let me get you some ice..." pitter patter of nine year old feet, a drawer opens, the freezer opens.
"Sit down here and put this on....oh, I can do school on the floor while you sit on the couch, don't worry..."

What a good kid. And to think I almost wrung his neck today.

So the bruise turned a myriad of colors, and is now on the mend. A friend in the medical field told me that I was truly lucky I did not break it. Wilhelm told me that I will most likely be one of those old ladies who breaks her hip. Probably. And I'll be irritable too, no doubt.

Wonder Woman Broken

I about cried the other day. I let my daughter have her decaf chai tea in my WonderWoman mug. Without thinking, I moved the desk that it was setting on (empty) to put it in its original place, and down the mug came crashing. The cup itself was fine, but the handle was obliterated. I tried to super glue it, but pretty soon the endeavor was looking silly because I had super glue all over my hands, I was sticking to things, the handle was falling apart, so I just ended up tossing the whole of it in the trash. This really upset me. I mean, I was literally grasping at what I had to do next. I looked on the internet for a replacement, but apparently my mug was really rare and there is none. I searched ebay for an hour, burned the pizza for dinner that night by ignoring the beeping of the timer, and had myself a glass of wine.

When my favorite cat died I had a glass of wine too.

Seriously, have a moment of silence for my Wonder Woman mug. I will always think back on it fondly, relish all my memories with it, and think back to my childhood when I would wear the underoos to school under my regular clothes. I can still hear the "ooh's and aah's" of the other girls when I would climb on the monkey bars and they would get a sneak peek entirely on accident.

It was seriously such a cool thing to do such an adult thing (like drink a cup of coffee) with something that shot me back so keenly to my childhood.

Sound Advice

Hey, I just read Gatsby's blog (Proverbs 3---sorry, I can not link this stuff still with the mac. I have no clue what I am doing, but go to the blog anyway) and take his advice. Go see Laura Waters and the Defectors at Jammin' Java March 14. And maybe if we have to twist your arm we could get you guys to stay for the Einsteins of Love. I heard they are ok. But that name...

Barf-0-Rama II

This morning my youngest boy woke up sick. Stomach virus, I think. I ran downstairs and got him an acidophilus pill to take and a little cup of water and he sat and stewed for a bit and threw up the water. I am not sure if he threw up the pill. About 30 minutes later I was convinced that he had thrown up the acidophilus pill so I gave him another. Down the hatch. He drank very little water this time. Whew.
About twenty minutes after that he threw up again. I sat there with him as he hovered over the bucket. I rubbed his back. Then he says, "Oh! two little pieces of corn!" and threw up a bit more. I looked in the bucket. Yeah, it did look like two little pieces of corn. Nice. I wondered how he threw two pieces of corn up. We haven't had corn for weeks. I said, "We haven't had corn recently, it must be something else."

"Can you throw up erasers?" He said sadly.

I figured out (too early in the morning I suppose) that it was the acidophilus pill half dissolved. The things are yellow. Duh.

It is still technically morning and he is so much better that it is scaring me. He is so ravenously hungry that he is begging for oatmeal. I am making him wait for a bit. I bought clear gatorade and everything so that clean up will be easy. So far so good. That kid could puke in a thimble. It's that Scandinavian blood in him. Those people are so clean!

Wilhelm For President

The medical manual was pulled out and looked at again by my oldest. The nine year old (almost ten). He came to me and asked me if King Solomon battled depression because in Ecclesiastes he says that "life is meaningless". My oldest claimed that people who say such things must be depressed because it says so in the medical manual. I told him that King Solomon was wise and with much knowledge comes grief.

He later also asked me if I ever had Schizophrenia---you know, hear voices and stuff. I think he thinks that I am crazy.

He told me yesterday that I am probably not the best mom in the world, but I am the best to him! I was so relieved to know that he will not be disappointed in me when he is old. At least he does not have the skewed idea that I am perfect or something. I definitely display my sinfulness to him on a daily basis and he knows it!

My youngest (the girl) asked me today what I was going to do when I growed up to be like Daddy. I about spit out my coffee laughing and kissed her and told her that I am grown up and I love to be a mommy. Mr. Wilhelm interferred as well and said that "mommy has the greatest job of all". My daughter said, "Well, when mommy gets older she can be a library girl and I want to be one too! And I want to be a mommy too!"

I absolutely love the honesty in children. I used to hate children. Babysitting was not the most fun thing for me to do. I realize how selfish I was in my heart. I remember acting like I loved children on the outside and then really disliking them on the inside. I had no patience. I tried, but I didn't really like them. I don't get it either because people would flock to have me as their reliable sitter. I hated how honest children were. I remember one time a kid I was sitting told me that I was not nearly as pretty as his old sitter. I was so mad! How vain could I be?

So, I have grown to love the blunt honesty in kids. It is something that adults do not do, and probably should not do (to a certain extent). It is acceptable for kids to do it because of a certain innocence they have. I think that if we get offended by them, we are being children ourselves!

I was up late last night trying to "jump" our immobile VW with my husband. He is not very mechanical and I am a little more than he is, but I wanted nothing to do with it. Usually I am the type that will try my best to take over and do something, but I envisioned something blowing up in my face because I had no clue what was the engine, a spark plug, an engine block, (what the heck?) or anything. The car just would not start yesterday morning. We thought perhaps a battery issue, but it probably isn't since it would not work last night (with jumping the thing). So Wilhelm stayed home for the morning to get the car stuff figured out, a tow, a trip to the shop, etc. He let me sleep in. I woke up seeing my youngest daughter on the edge of my bed smiling. Later my husband comes to me and says, "I wanted her to come in the bed and snuggle up with you but she wouldn't do it." I come downstairs all crabby like I usually am and see that school has already started without me, everyone is chipper, etc. My husband is amazing. Because he got us off to such a good start school ended at 11:30. The kids were begging him to stay home but he had to go to work---meetings, meetings and all that writing he does. When I grow up I want to be just like him.

Truth

I take comfort in the fact that God can see me. I know that I can not see Him, so if I know that He can see me I feel loved somehow. I remember a few times in my life when I have cried out to Him to look on me, to take pity on me and give me a "let up" from some present pain. What I was asking for was a miracle.

I feel that my own wicked self---my sinful heart---gets in the way of so many things. ---So many sanctifying times I pass by because of my wicked heart. The fact that I can swim to the surface of all the blackness and the Spirit can triumph is beyond me. It is not me. It is literally like trying to swim to the surface of quicksand. Thick, heavy mud.

So naturally, it must comfort me that God can see my struggle. That Jesus is in prayer for me at His right hand, that the Spirit is moving through me to cause the light to shine where blackness has been.

Truth is so paramount. God is truth. Jesus is truth. The Bible speaks of truth and lies so much. It is a real struggle that is in this world that we normally don't think of all the time. There is truth and there is not truth. I know the truth will come out, so I don't bother lying. I know that truth is the only thing God accepts.

The truth is, God can see me. The truth is, God is in me. The truth is, Jesus saved me from hell.

George the Deist

I am really sick of this. I know our past Presidents like Washington and Lincoln talked like they were Christians, but they were not. I hate how some of history lies. My youngest boy, in his curriculum, is fed lies all the time. Look at this sentence where he has to fill in a few words: "He (George Washington) became a brave soldier who prayed and trusted in God." My kids are obsessed lately with asking if this person or that is a Christian. So, naturally, my youngest son asks if George was a Christian. I certainly didn't think so, but I thought I would look it up anyway so I could see for sure. I looked it up on Wikipedia. Here is what I got: He was a Deist. Basically a deist believes that there may be a God of creation, but He does not interfere in our lives---miracles do not happen, reason is paramount. You guys probably know all this. He was an occultic Freemason nut as well. Apparently George went to church with his wife and did not take Communion. In fact, he would step out before Communion would be served. When the preacher noticed this, he mentioned in a sermon that local leaders need to set an example to others by taking Communion and not leaving early. After that George just stopped going to church period on Communion Sunday. He died without a pastor at his side (although that was offered him) and the Freemasons performed his funeral service.

Apparently good ol' George was a strong believer in pluralism as well. That is what we have become a country of, after all. Everything is great, tolerate, and don't offend anyone. Al Qaeda has us all wrong. They think we are a Christian nation for some reason. We really aren't. We never were.

Don't let me go on about Lincoln. I pretty much have nothing good to say about the man. I need to hit the books and get all my ammo right for that one. He was definitely NOT a Christian. Lets just put that to rest right there.

Look at the Washington Monument. What the heck is it? We drive by the thing every week on our way to church, and it just looks weird and Egyptian-like. It is like a Freemason torch. Look at our money full of pyramids and eyes and weird mason malarkey. "In God We Trust"---in any "god", apparently. Wilhelm and I were at the National Cathedral and it was really gross. There was a statue of George in the sanctuary and it was just scary looking. There was a bunch of mason stuff on the statue and what the heck is a statue of George Washington doing in a cathedral? The religion of America is America. I am so sick of Christians trying to Christianize the founding fathers and America. Sure, we are free here to worship Jesus Christ. We are also free here to worship Allah, Buddha, ourselves, rats, elephants, dogs, cats, whatever makes us happy.

I guess the whole curriculum thing makes me a little mad. I need to get new curriculum next year. I don't hate America, I just hate how America is ignorantly viewed as something it is not: a Christian country.

Interruption Note

School started a little tiny bit late this morning. A dear friend called and the children were doing fine on their own. I took about twenty minutes to talk to my friend and during that my youngest son (the second one) decides to be a booger. He starts antagonizing his sister and older brother. Finally my oldest son,T--, brings me this note in attempts to not interrupt while I am on the phone:

"Dear Mom,

Please understand that I am trying to tell those kids named L--- and E--- something. I am telling them that I should be respected but not as much as you should be. And when I say something bad, then they should not do it, but they are not listening and they are making fun of me. Please tell them about it. They will listen to you, though you should talk to Dad about this.

Sincerely,

T--

p.s. They are NOT doing school."

I thought this was kind of funny. He tries so hard to be good. I suppose with my forgetfulness and all the help I need to just function sometimes he feels a responsibility. What a cool kid I have.

C'est la papier

I just finished a little light reading that I found amusing, French Women Don't Get Fat. I'd link you to Amazon, but for some reason since we got this ridiculous Mac I can't understand how to work anything. I thought it was fun to read because I like to see what foreigners' view of Americans are. I have always heard that French don't like Americans, maybe they don't. I am not sure, I don't want to be rude and say that they all hate us. Every one knows that Evian backwards spells "naive". That is my favorite water. Nothing else tastes like it. Maybe it is not really from the French Alps but French tap water mixed with bleach. It tastes good though. I took almost three years of French but can't speak a word of it. I know fenetre (if I spelled it right or even have it right) means window and fenestra in Latin means window. Wow. Cool. I don't know anything. My heading is probably wrong. That is the whole point!

I think that the lady that wrote the book has a funny view of Americans though. She is married to an American and lives in America so it must not be that bad--she must like us some. She goes on in the book about how we always "hit the gym" and avoid the stairs whenever possible and always take the elevator. She talks about how we never walk places. How we eat standing up (I am always doing that and it drives Mr. Wilhelm crazy) and eat in the car (Mr. Wilhelm always does this and it drives me crazy). She talks about how we overdo exercise and lots of times we do it too much and therefore get a huge appetite and think that we can just eat because we burned so many calories. Everything with moderation and everything with the deepest enjoyment would be the motto here. It is sort of hard to take on a French way of life when you live in America. We don't have open-air markets that one can go to every day after work, and one can not walk to work all the time when the roads are all dedicated to cars because we love cars here.

If you want to enjoy food the way God intended, I think this book helps you do that. It is much better to sit down and really enjoy the food you are eating instead of standing up and scarfing it down so fast in attempts to pretend that you didn't just consume 500 calories!

REM

I have trouble sleeping. I am never the kind to get up when I can't sleep. I just don't give up. I try and try and it is fitful and a bad experience. Sort of like dreaming of the same song over and over when you have a stomach virus. The same old piece of chewed up gum. Old lady perfume you can't get away from. This has been a problem for me since I have had children. It has been a problem with me also because of my gradual forgetfulness. I will wake up with a start some nights remembering something I have to do and get a sick feeling in my stomach.

Any suggestions?

Heart Shaped Box

I hate Valentine's Day. I think everyone does if they want to admit it. Every guy has to hate it. It is the holiday where the guy *has* to get his girl something. A box of chocolates, a dozen roses. Hey, maybe even two dozen. You gotta get the card too. It is attractive because red, white and pink look kind of nice together. Every one I am sure has a Valentine's whine story. I probably have plenty. I hate the forced romance, the kids getting cards for other kids, and the eventual heartbreak of it all. I don't know how to fix my hatred of this holiday. I don't even know if it is a holiday. Mr. Wilhelm and I would go out every year for it and I really don't know why. Everyone else is out too and everyone else knows you are out just like they are for Valentine's Day. Big whoop.

This sounds crazy (and it really is) but a good while ago I worked with this Mexican girl who was really close to her family. She spoke fluent English (her parents would not allow them to speak Spanish at home) and she was just over all a cool person. She told me one day at work how her family had a "family meeting" and they were planning on boycotting Taco Bell because of their "Run for the Border" slogan. (This was of course, the reason why she would not go to Taco Bell with me to lunch that day) She said that Taco Bell insulted her heritage. In this same vein, Valentine's Day insults mine. It assumes that I am not romantic any other day and it is" high time I am romantic on February 14". It tells every woman that she deserves something on that day and if she does not get it she has been cheated. I am stupid because I actually did buy things for my husband on Valentine's Day. I know, I am a hypocrite. But (hopefully) it stops this year. I would like to turn a new leaf and boycott Valentine's Day.

Let's not forget that I was always the ugly girl in elementary school and I didn't get Valentines from boys like the other girls. Maybe I have some past issues!

Snowy Time

Lots of snow out there this weekend. The kids went out with Mr. Wilhelm as he shoveled the driveway. They went nuts playing and making forts. My oldest is convinced that all days that have snow will be as entertaining as a Calvin and Hobbes. It is funny. He actually thinks that he would have the ability to create a graveyard of snowmen or something. He declared war on all of us and then when he finally had to retreat he yelled, "Retreat!" (holding that same banner I mentioned in another post) and ran to the woods. By himself. The funny thing is that he is always yelling some threat like, "I will beat you yet!" And he utterly fails.

Everytime there is a lot of snow I am further impressed with the easy manner Mr. Wilhelm shovels it. He does it in some graceful way that looks more like a dance than manual labor. I know that sounds weird, but he is from Minnesota so he had to somehow get good at it. It is fun just watching him. The snow always lands in the proper place too. I kept bugging him to let me do it because he made it look so fun and easy. Let's just say my back hurts and his doesn't. I am just some chick from California who doesn't know what to do with snow.

So now I am contemplating a snow day for the kids. They are already in my face about it.